It Starts…

I feel like a failure. Every person feels as if they have the talent o write a book, whether it be a short story or the next, great American novel. Few ever finish what they have started and others… the lucky few who do never see their works published. I belong to that sad group that never finishes. It’s the most frustrating feeling in the world to have an idea that is sure to be fruitful, but lack the ability to see that idea mature into something tangible.

So here I am. It starts here for me. This is a chance to exercise my ‘writing muscles’ in an attempt to gain some kind of strength inside me to turn mere pages into a coherent story. So, I will poetically wax about nothing and everything. This is a place to dispose of verbal and mental diarrhea(I’m sure some of you who know me will readily agree on that).